An Alternate Reality: Half Blood Prince
by Pleiadesius
Summary: The universe is, theoretically, infinite. Therefore, there is room for every possible combination of atoms, be they wildly different or only slightly divergent from our own. What if Draco had had just a little more time, that night on the tower?
1. Chapter 1: The Tower

-_Author's Note_- I own no rights to the Harry Potter series, obviously. If I did, the books would be entirely dramione. I have quoted some bits from the tower scene in HBP here, to illustrate the exact point when this particular timeline branched from the one we all know and love. This story is rated Mature for a reason. If you are triggered by rape or abuse, read no further. I do not condone either of these actions in any way (you know, except for plot and character development. I can make my lovely little pawns dance, dance, dance, because this is MY WORLD! MWAHAHAHAHA! No but actually seriously rape is no joke it's as bad as murder which there might also be some of I'm sorry just be warned okay)

**-~Chapter One: The Tower~-**

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

Harry watched in fascinated horror as his enemy and his mentor went over Draco's last year at Hogwarts. Katie Bell, Ron, Madame Rosmerta...all those attempts at Dumbledore's life, but...

"Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts...so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has really been in it."

Dumbledore tried to continue the conversation with Malfoy, but the boy was frozen, paralyzed by the sounds of death coming from below. Only when Dumbledore accused him of cowardice did he stir, giving a vehement reply. He regaled them with the explanation for the Death Eaters, and bizarrely seemed to draw comfort from Dumbledore's praise of his plan. He began to sneer and brag, and Harry thought he was the most egotistical coward he had ever heard. Dumbledore, however, was not brooding over Draco's ravaged, fragile ego. He had been stalling, waiting for Snape to kill him-the pain of remembering his sister so vividly was unbearable. Now, however, he realized he had someone else to worry about. If he could save this powerful boy, turn him and his parents back on the right path with an act of kindness, perhaps that would atone...in some measure...his bright eyes snapped to Draco's, and he cut the boy off in the middle of his tales.

"As much as I desire to know how you have introduced Death Eaters to my school, dear boy, and as much as I congratulate you on a job well done, now is not the time for explanations. These can be received and praised later. I appreciate the difficulty of your situation," he continued, ignoring Malfoy's incredulous snort. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized that I suspected you."

Malfoy winced at the sound of the name.

"I did not dare speak with you of the mission with which I knew you have been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you," continued Dumbledore. "But now at last we can speak plainly to each other...No harm has been done, and you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived...I can help you, Draco."

If Harry hadn't been invisible, he would have looked very incredulous indeed. No harm done? What about the body Draco stepped over? What about the future casualties the Death Eaters were sure to incur upon the school before the night was up? What was Dumbledore doing? Had the potion addled his brain?

"No, you can't," said Draco, his wand hand shaking very badly indeed. "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

"Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight, to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban...When the time comes we can protect him too...come over to the right side, Draco...you are not a killer..."

Draco was trembling. His mouth was set in a hard line. He looked as though he was about to disagree. He raised his wand, and Harry thought he was about to see his mentor murdered. Draco's arm swung around to the door behind him. A bolt of red light flashed, and the door was made of solid iron, melting into the castle wall. He looked back at Dumbledore.

"They'll be here soon. I hope you're as good as everyone says, old man." His hand shook as he muttered protective charms around the room.

Dumbledore inched back up the wall. He pressed his wand to his throat, and said hoarsely, "Expecto patronum." A silver phoenix flowed from the tip and turned to him. "The Ferret has defected." He spoke quickly. "Hide his mother. Ferret on our doorstep shortly." The powerful bird charged through the metal door, and there was a shout from just outside. Pounding and explosions resonated the chamber.

"I will not hold them off for long...Draco, Harry will take you to Number 12...I can open apparition on the grounds for a moment, it matters not now that the opposition is already here...just to the doorstep, Harry, the Order will take it from there."

Draco looked in at the newly visible and unfrozen Harry with astonishment as the noise behind the door inrceased. Harry glared back with hardened eyes before stepping towards him reluctantly. "Are you sure, sir? He'll know-"

"Harry, do not try me now. I am about to face death." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he slid another inch down the wall. A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "You'll do well, dear boys." He slumped to the floor, his head resting on his knees, a curiously powerful expression on his weakened face. His want pointed at the shaking, cracking door. Harry looked at him. He was torn between protecting the old man or obeying him.

Dumbledore looked up. Urgency was in his eyes now. "Flee, you fool!" he whispered. Harry took Malfoy's arm, and with a crack they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2: The Prison

**-~Chapter Two: Imprisoned~-**

Alarms blared as they reappeared on the front steps of the headquarters. Thankfully, it seemed Dumbledore's phoenix had gotten there before them, because Kingsley Shacklebolt opened the door without panic. A wave of his wand silenced the alarms, and another bound Draco head to toe in chains. He made a surprised noise and struggled, but Kingsley hauled them both inside before he could do too much damage.

"One who did not know him would say Dumbledore has gone mad," he said, eyeing Harry. "You were there. Is he trustworthy?"

Harry paused a moment, his eyes on the snake beside him. "He's a coward and a sneak, and I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. But Dumbledore thinks he's not a killer." He shrugged. Kingsley took that as a yes, and dragged the offending boy further inside so he could shut the door.

"I'm going back to fight," Harry said sternly. He expected argument, but Shacklebolt only nodded gravely. He waved his wand, and Harry felt warmth about himself. "A small protective ward," Kingsley said soberly. "Nothing to rely on against a Killing curse, which I suspect will be all that is thrown at you tonight. Be careful. Protect your classmates." He turned to Draco as Harry disapparated. "Now as for you," he mused. Draco stiffened. Kingsley's booming voice and imposing figure gave him reason for pause. His foreshadowing words, moreover, made him downright daunting. _You came here to regain some control, damn it. So take it._

"There will be no need for chains," he said. His voice came out a little higher than he would have liked, but Shacklebolt's deep, strong voice would make anyone sound like a child. "I'll…behave." He managed a sneer, as though he was doing Shacklebolt a great honor by deigning to refrain from blowing up the hallway. In reality, Kingsley's commanding nature was making him uncomfortable. Like a wolf, if you show a Malfoy someone with more authority than them, they were bound by principle to attack.

"I am sure you will, Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley replied, "You understand, however, that your comfort will not be placed above the security of this safehouse." Stonefaced, he vanished the chains, replaced them with handcuffs, and led Draco down the hall.

Draco was placed in a comfortable room, cleaned with a scourgify spell and given a fresh set of robes, but he was under no illusions. His room was without windows, and the door was locked with a very strong spell and an actual padlock. His wand was gone. _Still,_ he thought, _better a cell here than the Manor with Him._ He didn't even say the Dark Lord's name in his thoughts anymore, for fear it would prompt a Legilimency session sure to end in his death. It was a habit he would not give up here. He might have been in a slightly better situation, but during the past months Draco had learned that safety was an illusion and all friendliness was a façade. He stared at the ceiling and tried to work out ways to escape. Halfway through a plan involving wandless magic and a loaf of bread, he realized he had come here of his own accord.

It was so surreal to think that he was on their side now. He had been eager, of course, when he had first been initiated into his parent's cause, one they seemed to believe in wholeheartedly, at least for a while. He had, as well. It had been all he had wanted since childhood-to please his parents, impress his peers, hold dominion over everything else. Now he smiled wanly at the idea. Being the Dark Lord's servant was no position of power. It was that of slavery. Distinguished slavery, yes, but imbibed with constant fear, ever-present unspoken rules that did not allow for any deviation, nor any independence, nor least of all any pride. Malfoys were born to rule, not be second-best. Still, they had been content with that for a while. They had been the favorites, the Dark Lord's lapdogs. Deep down, Draco's parents had held some shame even then, he knew. He had seen their slight reluctance to turn over the Manor, their hesitance to bow in deference to a man who, there were whispers, was not even pureblooded. They had consented because his cause had seemed right. They had held out for the day when they could dominate muggles with impunity, as they should have for centuries.

And then his father had made a mistake.

Draco would never forget that night. His mother had come home with the blankest look on her face. Draco had seen her proud. He had seen her aloof. He had seen her angry. But he had never seen her defeated until that night. She had sat unmoving, staring blankly at the floor, waiting for her turn to be briefed. They had sat in silence, rigid, afraid even then of showing weakness, unfaithfulness, or disillusionment. That night, Draco had heard the antithesis of what a Malfoy should be. He had heard cries of pain and humiliation torn from his proud father's throat. He had seen him cast down like a dog, gasping for air, stumbling out of the dining room with blood dripping down his legs. He had watched his mother stare silently at her husband, her eyes glazed, and watched her walk stiffly through the doors without looking back.

He had thought, like a desperate fool, that perhaps his assignment meant that He was beginning to trust them again. Perhaps if he succeeded he would bring back the favor they had once curried. So he fixed the cabinet. He was good with technomancy, though potions were his true strength. Even so, the Dark Lord had gotten impatient quickly, and his mother had suffered for it. She had suffered indignities no Malfoy-hell, no woman magic or muggle-should ever have to endure. She thought she could hide him from it, save him from at least that stab to his shattered innocence, but even the Manor's thick walls were not soundproof.

So he had added in a few side attempts. Those, unfortunately, had been his biggest mistakes. Not only had they failed, they had revealed how little resolve he had for killing the old man. He had been horrified when he heard about Katie. She was a Gryffindor, and theoretically he should have been amused when she got in the way. The only problem was, he wasn't. Amused. At all. She was his age. A child. He had seen her fly, and she was brilliant. She was pretty, smart, and kind. She wasn't a pureblood, but it didn't seem to matter much when it came down to whether or not he would have been pleased by her death. Ron, well...they hated each other, but not that much. He was an absolute disgrace to wizards, and not just because he was a blood traitor. The boy was a Neanderthal. His manners were horrid and his taste of dress was worse. He treated women like toys to be thrown away (yes, so did Draco, but he did it with _class_). In the end, though, Draco would never want to kill him. _Say_ he was going to kill him, yes. Maybe even torture him, though he would probably vomit just as much as the last time they'd made him do that. But Dumbledore was right- Draco was not a killer.

He clung to that now. These people were also, hopefully, inclined to show compassion. Or cowardice, as his aunt Bella would call it. He remembered the old man's mercy in the tower. Dumbledore would vouch for him.

Mad-Eye apparated into the main hall, in front of Kingsley. His coat was drenched in blood and his magic eye was split clean through. He was covered in cuts and his prosthetic leg was smoking. None of it registered with him.

"Dumbledore's dead."


	3. Chapter 3: The Negotiations

There was pandemonium in the Black house that night. The Order had cautiously begun using it again when Kreacher had bent to Harry's will, but now that the secret-keeper was dead and a trusted member had defected, there was no telling what security measures had been destroyed. Members rushed about the house muttering last-minute protective charms as they gathered important records and decided where to go. Early in the morning, a small, squeaky man opened Draco's door in a manner that was both apprehensive and rushed, and told Draco to come with him. They descended the steps quickly, slipping between harried Order members to reach the door. They stepped onto the landing, and the mousy man stopped abruptly.

"Well, I suppose there's no safe way to do this quickly. We'll just have to hope the Ministry's too busy with the others to tail us, or that the charms are still holding. Here. Normally you wouldn't get this back for a while, but...well, be prepared to die!" He handed Draco his wand, took his elbow, and apparated.

They were standing in a still, colorful garden in front of a white cottage. Buzzing bees and the echo of their own apparition were the only noises. The contrast to the grey, hurried world he had left caused him a moment of disorientation, but Draco held his wand alert. The door of the cottage blasted open and he started to aim a curse at the woman who came out. The man beside him pushed down his arm hastily. "That's Mrs. Tonks. I wouldn't get on her bad side."

"Dedalus!" The tall woman rushed to greet them, and Draco took a step back. She was the spitting image of a less-insane Aunt Bella. Her haughty face was grave as she eyed the shorter man. "Is it true?"

"Dumbledore has fallen." Dedalus lowered his head, and the two shared a moment of silence. Draco mused that he might have been celebrating those words, had he not been such a coward. He kicked the dirt and scowled. Weakness was not present in a Malfoy. He had done what he had done for a reason, he reminded himself.

"You must be Draco," the woman eyed him coldly. "My nephew." For a moment he was confused, and then he remembered. The blood traitor, Andromeda, married to Ted Tonks. He recalled Aunt Bella calling her a "filthy, muggle-humping disgrace to the family." She certainly didn't look it. Though softer-looking, with wider eyes and light brown hair, her Black roots were pronounced. Draco turned away- he had no desire to look at anyone resembling Aunt Bella at the moment.

"Why have you brought him here, Diggle? Is he a prisoner?" she continued scrutinizing Draco. Diggle shook his head.

"Not exactly, he…came of his own accord. He is to be placed under lock and key, however." The man gave Draco an apologetic look, which he did not acknowledge. He would take pity from no one.

"That can be arranged. More importantly, where is my daughter? Is she alright?" the concern in her voice differentiated her so much from aunt Bella that Draco could almost look at her.

"She was at the battle, but yes, she is fine. She was put on safe house duty, I believe, but she should come home by tomorrow." Andromeda sighed with relief.

"Good. Go get some rest. I will set something up for Draco." Dedalus was about to turn when Draco spoke.

"Wait! What about my mother? Dumbledore said you would protect her. She has more information than I do. She has to be taken before they find out where I've gone." He tried not to let panic show through in his voice, but the urgency was hard to conceal.

Mr. Diggle stopped. "Mr. Malfoy, she has already been collected. Your wand provided proof of our sincerity, but as she is a powerful witch with unclear loyalties, she is currently in Azkaban. Her stay will be as comfortable as possible, I can assure you, so long as you remain trustworthy." He nodded once more at Andromeda, then left.

Draco was frozen. He should have known. He had been told all along that the other side was without honor. He thought of his proud mother, abused for so long, rotting away in the dank cells of Azkaban. What revolting disgraces to her proud heritage would the dementors make her relive? He couldn't imagine. He hoped she would be close to his father.

His father. A memory came to him, a moment from his childhood. Lucius had been seated by the fire, a very young Draco on the floor in front of him. His father had just signed a large deal with the Zambinis after months of negotiations. "Draco," his father had told him, "there will be times when you will forget who you are. Times when others seem more powerful, when their authority seems to hold more sway. Do not concede. The second you stop acting like a king, you give up your power. You are a Malfoy, born to lead. You are _always _in control of the situation. It is up to you whether to abdicate your throne or dominate it." He had leaned back, satisfied, and pressed a crystal goblet of wine to his lips. At the time, all Draco had understood was that his father was a very powerful man. Now, however, the message had been illustrated for him in a painfully clear manner. His father had stopped being a Malfoy the moment he bowed to the Dark Lord. He would not make the same mistake.

He turned to Andromeda. "Your sister was never fond of...Voldemort. A cell in Azkaban is a waste of her potential. We are going to get her out."

She stared at him, long and hard. "We are, are we?" He was reminded that she too had a genetic predisposition towards dominance. He met her eyes. She studied him carefully. Then she turned and walked back through the door to the cottage, trusting Draco to follow. "Ted," she called, "bring me the phone. I have calls to make."


	4. Chapter 4: The Deal

_Author's Note: _Oops, another trigger warning I forgot to mention. Mild gore, torture, PTSD, horrible murders, etc. So uh...mom...when you read this...just going to point out that you raised me, so it's all your fault really. Love you!

**-~Chapter 4: The Deal~-**

Draco hated telephones. Muggles and their pathetic false magic disgusted him. Andromeda and he had spent the last several hours calling everyone of consequence in the Order, and some from the Ministry. Not one of them had been willing or able to listen to his arguments. Maybe it was because he was shouting. But how else was he supposed to get them to hear him?

"DAMN IT, MAN, SHE HAS INFORMATION YOU NEED!"

"Draco, hush. For the fiftieth time, you don't need to shout."

"But how can he hear me if he's so far away?"

"It's like the fireplaces, boy. Don't make me explain it again. Now, listen, Remus, I know Cissy, she's never been all too pleased with Lucius's goals…" Draco hung up the phone in frustration. He was back in the same situation again- his parents' lives hanging on his obedience to a higher power. Except this time, it was a higher power that didn't even believe in the superiority of purebloods! This was so much worse.

_No, it's not,_ said a little voice in his head. _At least here they don't make me torture anyone. _His thoughts grew darker and darker as he thought about Amelia Bones. She was a proud-looking woman, just like his mother. The papers had said she was on the Wizengamot, one of the most intelligent witches of her age. Mudblood lover, Potter worshipper, utterly unimpressed by the Death Eaters. Gregory's dad had said she needed to be taught a lesson. Still…her screams had not made him feel satisfied. They had made him feel sick.

He forced himself back to the present. He would not remember the blood. He would not remember the way she had held her own with Him for so long before He had overpowered her, how clever her spells had been, how He had made Draco watch while he carved her intestines out with his wand. He would not remember the Dark Lord's disappointment when he could not muster the will for a Cruciatus. He would not.

He realized he was carving into the phone with his wand. He glanced guiltily at Mrs. Tonks, but she was busy with her call. He placed the distasteful object delicately back on its holder and retreated to his new room to think. To plot, actually. He sank onto his bed. He could withhold all information until they set her free…but that might just get him thrown to the Death Eaters, or sent to Azkaban himself. He felt his stomach twinge. Dumbledore was gone. There was no one to vouch for him anymore. Unless…but Potter would never work with him. He had seen the boy's face on the tower. _"He's a coward and a sneak, and I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him." _

No, Potter would not be easily manipulated. However…he sat up with a start. Potter would have told his cronies the whole thing. The Weasel was an idiot, he wasn't even worth thinking about, but the mudblood…she was soft. Intelligent, yes, annoyingly so, but she had a chink in her armor. She was sympathetic. The house elves, the muggles, the social outcasts, she loved them all. Well, you couldn't get more socially outcast than a pureblood in the Order, Draco thought grimly. Granger, he knew, had a thing for underdogs. She also had just the right amount of leverage to get things moving back at the ministry. He couldn't get his mother acquitted of all charges, he knew. But perhaps, with the Order backing him, he could make them understand that she was more valuable out of prison than in. Draco knew his way around a courtroom- that kind of knowledge is necessary when you're heir to the most powerful, unconventional birthright in Britain.

It was settled. This would not be like his halfhearted attempts at Dumbledore, Draco promised himself. This was a cause he cared about. This was something he wanted. And Malfoys always get what they want.

He walked down the stairs with a straight back. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror in the hall and grimaced. He fixed his hair and wiped some smudges of dirt off his face. He dusted his jacket and entered the kitchen, where Mrs. Tonks was hanging up her phone again with a sigh.

"I need to contact the mudblood. Granger." He cursed to himself, seeing Andromeda's look as he said "mudblood." He'd have to be a tad more politically correct if he wanted to convince Granger of his good intentions, let alone anyone with common sense.

"She's at school, I'd wager, Draco. They're having Albus's funeral today. Ted and I will be going." She gave him a long look. "I would invite you, but it seems rather ill-mannered to go to the funeral of a man you essentially killed. Then there is the matter of your unproven loyalty." He glared sullenly. What right had she?

"How can I prove my loyalty if I'm not allowed to leave this godforsaken house?"

"I would suggest good manners would be a start. Possibly not walking around like a peacock." He started. He didn't walk like a peacock! He would know, having owned several. His mind flashed to his favorite, Hesper. She had been named after some old relative, and she acted the part- a thing of beauty, but a satire of egotism. His mouth formed the beginnings of a smile as he thought of her. It calmed him a little. Perhaps he could make this situation a little lighter. He turned on the famous Malfoy charm, or what was left of it.

"I apologize for my preening, madame. It is imperative, however, that I speak to Ms. Granger. She is one of the few people who might empathize with our plight." He was playing it up, but women always fell for that. Mrs. Tonks eyed him silently. She seemed to be making a habit of it.

"I would remind you that it is much more your plight than mine, Draco. I renounced Narcissa a long time ago. She chose her own path. However…" she looked as though she was speaking against her better judgment, but continued, "…Perhaps it would be fitting for you to come. Show the proper respect for the man who gave you mercy, as it were. If you will consent to go wandless, with wards placed about you so that you may not leave without my permission, I think I could allow you to make an appearance."

In a different time, he would have refused to part with his wand a second time. Things had changed. He would live by his father's advice, but that did not mean he would refuse to compromise. Besides, he only wanted to speak with the girl, not hex her. Perhaps a small love charm would not have gone amiss, but he had little need for such cheap tricks. He knew perfectly well how to get women to do what he wanted. He brought himself up from his brooding and nodded.

"That would be agreeable."

"Then it is settled." She turned back to her phone. "I suppose I could put in a few more calls before Dora gets here…"

"Don't bother," Draco smiled (or sneered-it was rather hard to tell with him), "I will handle things from here."

-_Author's Note- _Apologies for these very short installations. I promise you all, it starts picking up from here. Don't you just hate Malfoy? Isn't he just a chauvinistic pig? The more I write him, the less I like him. Hopefully, Hermione can show him what a true badass is like.


	5. Chapter 5: The Funeral

-_Author's Note_- Hello, readers! I've noticed something. This being my first real fanfic, I'm bound to have some weaknesses, and one of them is that it's hard for me to get the story to progress without Draco seeming a little ooc. Do report anything he does that's strange, will you? I'd much appreciate it. I like my Malfoys genuine. Thank you for reading thus far, I am honored. Oh, I almost forgot. –WARNING- This chapter earns its rating. And by the way, you're not supposed to like Malfoy right now. No one warned me of that when I read _Catcher in the Rye_ and I missed the point of the entire novel the first time round, so I figured I wouldn't make the same mistake. Malfoy is, without a doubt, a tremendous asshole. Though if you've bothered to read all this, you're probably good enough at reading to have figured that out on your own, AND you understood _Catcher in the Rye_. So, uh...congratulations. Have you noticed my writing style rambles?

**-~Chapter 5: The Funeral~-**

The astronomy tower loomed over him as they neared the school. He glared broodingly back it it. If he never saw this wretched place again, he would be happy. He looked down at his overlarge, hairy hands with distaste. Polyjuice was the only way to keep him from being instantly recognized, and on some level he acknowledged that the lengths the Tonks' had gone to to keep him safe were a sign of respect, or something like it. He refused to think that it was pity that caused them to treat him with kindness. Still, the disguise he had been forced to endure was odious. The carriage bumped noisily along, and Draco couldn't help but compare it to his family's own luxurious coach. Gods, he missed the old days! _That's why you're here,_ he reminded himself, for the fiftieth time that day. _Endure this, and the Malfoys will rise again. The greatest house in the world-the greatest _wizard_ in the world-will not be humiliated without retribution. Nor ever again._ He was determined to change things at the Manor, if things ever got back to normal. The Malfoys had golden tongues, but they would never again use them to flatter and pander. If the Golden Bitch wanted to stand in his way, or anyone else, they'd get a taste of what Slytherin cunning could do.

The funeral was beautiful, and Draco wouldn't deny it. A weaker man would certainly have cried-and many did. Fawkes topped it off as the most dramatic send-off Draco had ever seen. That got him thinking about some less lovely send-offs, such as Ms. Bones's, and he had to tune the preacher out for a while to regroup his thoughts.

_Strategy. The mudblood is a key pawn, since Potter cares about her, the little prat. He's so untalented, he would never have survived this long without her. Merlin, focus! Get her riled… over the injustice of it all…or just riled…gods, you're at a funeral! And what the _fuck_, she's a mudblood! Strategy…_

Try as he might, however, Draco couldn't remember his strategy. He had too many different emotions and thoughts whirling through his brain. His anger at Dumbledore, for leaving him in this mess, for pitying him. His confusion towards his parents, who had bowed to the Dark Lord despite their pride and made such deadly mistakes. His apprehension…and strangely, excitement….over seeing the mudblood witch again. She had been his most infuriating rival, minus Harry, for so long that he was unsure he was capable of doing much beyond taunting her. And taunting Granger had gotten dangerous. He still remembered that slap last year. He felt the phantom of a sting and pressed his hand to his cheek. More was riding on this than a petty school rivalry.

The preacher, or whatever he was, had stopped speaking. Draco looked up from his thoughts to the sounds of screams as flames erupted around Dumbledore's body. They rose higher and higher, and for a split second he thought he saw the man's beautiful phoenix fly out of them. Suddenly they were gone, a marble tomb in their place. Centaur's arrows thudded several feet short of the crowd, and they turned back into the dark forest. Draco stood up. The rest of the crowd followed suit. He looked once more at the white stone encasing the old man. He felt a twinge of something, and covered it with a sneer. It felt strange on this fat, round face. He looked around for Granger. She was waiting for Potter, who was speaking to the Weaslette, Ginerva. He grimaced. What a prat, to chose such a plain, stupid girl over one who was obviously more intelligent and graceful than Potter would ever be, mudblood or no. He saw the Neanderthal Weasel put an arm around her, and he nearly gagged. Mudblood or no, the bitch had seriously low standards. He was making his way through the crowd when a disturbance to his left caught his attention. One of the funeral goers had pulled out his wand. With a sickening lurch, Draco recognized her. Aunt Bella.

"Defodio!" Bella grinned fiercely as she gouged chunks out of an old, fat witch, who wailed as blood spurted from her destroyed stomach. Draco's eyes widened, and he looked for the Tonks. He couldn't see them in the confusion.

"Come out to play, Draco, I know you're here!" Bella pounced on a young boy and ripped at his throat with her nails, blocking curses simultaneously. Draco stood, panicked, suddenly very aware that he had no wand and polyjuice potion didn't last forever. He looked at his hands and saw the hairs on them were slowly fading to platinum.

Aunt Bella saw the Golden Trio casting hexes, and her eyes lit up. Unthinking, Draco ran towards them. "Confringo!" Bella's wand exploded with flame, and Draco felt his hair singe and his skin shrivel and he shoved Granger roughly out of the way. She struggled out from under him, dazed, and called out.

"Ron! Harry!" they had been blown backwards by the impact of the blaze, but, being farther away, had not sustained as much damage as Draco and Hermione. They stumbled to their feet and being battling Bella. Hermione turned to look at Draco, and her eyes widened. He reached up to feel his face, and was almost sick. The dry, burned skin of his disguise was bubbling, changing back into his own. Granger raised her wand.

"Draco!" Ted pushed through the rioting crowd. "Let's go. Andromeda apparated off with some of the injured. Hermione! Oh thank god. You can heal, yes? Leave Harry and Ron, they know what they're doing, there are plenty of fighters here. Bellatrix is _mad_ to attack with so much of the Order present. Come on." He grabbed them despite Granger's protests and with a crack they were gone.


	6. Chapter 6: The Apology

-_Author's Note_- Hello again! I'm sorry for posting so frequently, but I just can't help myself. As soon as I write a chapter I want to share it with you guys. We're venturing into new territory here. It's so hard to write Draco being nice without being ooc. Arg! If you spot something you don't think Draco would have done, let me know. Thanks for the reviews!

**-~Chapter 6: The Apology~-**

"I have to go back! Let go of me!" Granger struggled in Ted's grasp. "Ron and Harry are idiots, they'll get themselves killed! Let me go!" She punched him with her free hand, and he swore. Draco backed away slowly. He was an egotist, not foolish- he wasn't going to get involved in this.

"Ms. Granger, listen to me! There is an injured boy in my living room, and I'm a worse healer than Dora. Andromeda is bringing back more as we speak. They'll get Bellatrix under control; she's just one Death Eater, we've certainly faced worse. Right now, our most pressing concern is the boy bleeding out on my carpet." He looked at her pleadingly. "Brightest witch of your age, right? Well come on. Andromeda can't heal them all by herself."

Granger took a deep breath and let it out with a huff. "I hate that woman," she said quietly, and Ted understood that she was not talking about his wife. Granger turned toward the living room, but stopped when she saw Malfoy. She raised her wand. "What are _you _doing here?!" Ted stepped between them, his hands up.

"He surrendered. He's on our side, or so he says. Put down the wand, Ms. Granger." She did, but slowly. Her eyes bored holes Draco's head as she scrutinized him.

"Well. Take me to the injured, then."

Draco watched her walk past him with relief. She wasn't going to crucify him on sight- that was more than he'd hoped for. This was going to be easy.

The living room looked like the scene of a massacre. Mrs. Tonks was moving hectically among the injured, muttering to herself as she cast healing spells and dropped small amounts of potions down moaning throats. There was indeed blood soaking a large amount of the Tonks' carpet. A small boy lay gasping on the sofa, a terrible gash in his neck spurting blood with every beat of his heart.

Hermione rushed to him and knelt beside him. "It's going to be okay," she said softly, then, "bring me dittany. Quickly!" Ted looked around helplessly. Draco reached for his wand, but it wasn't there, and Mr. Tonks seemed to have forgotten that he was a wizard, frozen and panicked. He was obviously a man of the battlefield, not the sickroom. Draco's eyes lit on a cabinet with various bottles and vials, and he strode over to it. His eyes lit on the dittany at once-it had a distinctive color, like champagne. He approached the dying boy.

"Here." Hermione jumped a little when she noticed how close he was. She eyed him quizzically for a moment before taking the potion. Their hands brushed momentarily and Draco flinched as a shock ran through him. He jerked his hand away, but she hadn't noticed, already absorbed in healing the wound.

"Shh, I know it hurts. It's going to be okay. Oh god," she said, her voice and hands shaking just a little as she used her wand to sew up the cuts that were too big for the dittany to heal without help. "I think…I think she _poisoned_ her _nails_. What kind of person…god. Um…bring me essence of bezoar and…and the Draught of Peace. The hysteria isn't helping his heart rate." Draco paced back over to the cabinet. How likely was it that those things were kept in your average potions cupboard? But he had forgotten he was dealing with Order members. With a little searching he managed to find the Draught of Peace, but they only had whole bezoars. He hesitated, then took one to the mortar and pestle and ground it to a powder. He added a few drops of murtlap essence to hold it together. The mudblood nodded sharply when he presented his findings, and began applying the paste to the boy's cuts.

"Give him the Draught," she said as she plastered more of the concoction onto the boy's neck. He gasped like a fish out of water, and screamed as she touched a particularly nasty cut. "Not too much," she warned. "An overdose would mean a permanent coma." Draco nodded and tipped a little of the potion down the boy's wheezing throat. He began to breathe easier almost immediately. Though the sounds of agony filled the room as Mrs. Tonks tended to more of the patients, the boy soon had a serene smile on his face. Hermione looked up once the cuts were all attended to and moved on to the next victim of Draco's carelessness. He cursed his impatience. If he had only waited for school to get out…he looked at his feet and found his shoes covered in blood. He thought of Amelia Bones, and his stomach clenched. He felt ready to wretch as he looked at the pale boy on the sofa. He would be scarred for the rest of his life, perhaps, and it was all Draco's fault. Damn it all, if they just hadn't bowed to that bastard, all of this could have been prevented! He punched the sofa, and the boy started. Draco looked away. Everything, all of it, Amelia Bones and Hannah Abbot's mother and Igor Karkaroff and all those muggle children…if only they hadn't given that wretched man power! If the Malfoys had opposed him from the start, Voldemort would never have risen to power in the first place. It was _their fault, _it was _his _fault. All of this death. When he looked at that boy with the gaping hole in his neck he saw five other children, schoolchildren who hadn't done _anything_. When he hadn't been able to kill them, they had made his mother do it, and his father, thought Aunt Bella had been salivating for a chance to prove herself. They had made him watch. She had killed the first quickly, but that hadn't been enough for Him. After that, there was so much blood. And crying. And screaming. And silence. He could still hear them sometimes, when it was too quiet.

Andromeda and Granger had finished with all the easier heals. They both stopped now to look at the old woman on the floor. Draco had been avoiding looking at her most of all. The Defodio spell was not meant for humans, and it showed on her. Large, jagged chunks of her side and legs were missing. A shallow, wide strip of flesh was cut out of her cheek and neck. Several of her fingers were stumps, spurting blood from behind sharp bone. Her breathing rattled. The pool of blood around her was impossibly large. Draco turned away and his eyes lit on the cupboard. He opened the doors again and found what he was looking for- blood replenishing potion. While Mrs. Tonks and Granger tried their best to seal up the wounds, he poured the entire thing down the frail woman's throat. She sputtered, but swallowed. He mixed more of the bezoar paste, as it had seemed to help the boy, and assisted the women. Mr. Tonks began to clean up the victims, sponging blood off their faces and scourgifying their clothes. As the moans of pain began to subside, Draco looked around at the damage he had caused and felt sick. He was about to go back up to his room when he heard Granger speak.

"Everyone at school thinks you're dead." She eyed him carefully.

"Probably best that way," he replied.

"Why did you come?" She didn't sound accusatory, just curious, so he answered.

"I needed to talk to you."

"Me?" she looked confused, and he almost smirked.

"You, Granger. I was going to try to convince you get my mother out of Azkaban, but the more I think about it, the more I think she deserves it. My father too. They gave up their power." She looked utterly bewildered at that, but he felt no urge to smirk.

"I….I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Malfoy, but you can't expect me to believe that suddenly you're a born-again Christian."

"What?" it was his turn to be confused. She sighed.

"It's a muggle thing. You wouldn't understand. That old woman is a muggle, you know. It doesn't seem to matter when their life is in your hands, does it?" she watched him carefully. "They bring a lot to the world that your family has missed out on. Start appreciating that, and maybe I'll believe you." She turned to leave, but he caught her arm.

"Granger," he said hesitatingly. This was new territory for him- Malfoys rarely ask forgiveness. He thought of the one thing that might make her rethink him. "I'm not a killer."


	7. Chapter 7: The Realization

_Author's Note_: Another trigger warning. This would be the beginning of the really dark stuff. Narcissa has seen. some. shit.

_-_**~Chapter 7: Negotiations~**-

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been stripped of almost everything. They had lost their clothes, their wealth, their status, their dignity, a great portion of their pride, and perhaps even a little of their sanity. They were destitute.

However.

There was a reason the Malfoy house had survived for so long. Whether they were willing to admit it or not, it was not their pureblood status or their adept money management. It was their cunning. And it was their cunning they used now.

Narcissa's loyalty had shifted long ago. She just wasn't the type to go charging into battle, enamored with a cause. The Order's mantras did not tug at her heartstrings. She had, however, understood fairly quickly that Lord Voldemort was a power addict whose lackeys he had manipulated by pandering to that most potent pathos, purpose. She had warned Lucius, but her husband was too set in his beliefs to see the truth of the matter. Thank god for Severus. An old family friend, he had bolstered her own Legilimency skills, and she had taught her son. Despite what the world said, the Dark Lord was not the most accomplished Legilimens in the world. He had never seen much value in the thoughts of others. No, Severus Snape, master of manipulation, held that title. She only hoped his teaching would be enough.

Lucius would be no help. She could pick out her husband's screams from among the rest, having heard them so often before his incarceration. Her strong, beautiful man had been destroyed for Voldemort's amusement before he was turned over to the Aurors, and she was uncertain he would ever regain his full strength. She had at least escaped that fate, though the child that kicked faintly in her stomach almost made her jealous of Lucius's fortune. However, now was not the time for self-pity. She straightened her posture on the hard chair as the head of the Auror department walked in. Moody's reflection in the two-way mirror showed a man even rougher than he had been in years past. His prosthetic leg had a chunk missing, and his magical eye was twitching jerkily. It spasmed in her direction, and Moody grunted. Narcissa looked at him unflinching, her hands folded carefully on the table as though this were just another business meeting. Her loose, wild hair and her prisoner's robes did not deter from her air of sophistication; on the contrary, they made her look more experienced.

"You'd better have something good, Malfoy," Moody growled. The only other chair in the room made a sound like nails on a chalkboard as he drew it out. He sat down ungracefully and leaned back, his twitching eye observing her.

"I would not waste your time, Alaster," Narcissa said with a nod, "I know you are a busy man."

"Get to it then, what do you have to offer? Information? We've got plenty. Secret spells? We know them all. A detailed schematic of the Manor? We have your son for that. What could you possibly offer the Order, woman?" His bulky fingers fingered his wand.

"All those things," Narcissa conceded, "some of which you might actually find useful. Your most trusted spy was not, as you now know, quite so trustworthy." Moody scowled. "Yet I offer more," Narcissa continued quickly, "something that may win you the war. I have a plan, and only I and my family have the skill and the motivation to carry it out."

Moody leaned forward. "I'm listening."

Hermione Granger was in his bed.

Strangely, Draco was not disgusted. He stared at her small form, wondering if he could move her without disturbing her and making things awkward. He decided against it, but, not knowing where else to go, sat down in a chair in the corner of the room.

She had come back late in the afternoon the day after the funeral to check on her patients, who would be moved today to St. Mungo's. She had worked on them more, but it seemed to have tired her out. The little boy was healing well, though it was hard to tell with all the Draught of Peace he had taken. The old woman…well, it was a war. You couldn't save everyone.

_But it's your fault she's dead,_ a little voice whispered. Draco scowled and shook his head. How was he supposed to have known that Aunt Bella had gotten even crazier? To attack when so many Order members were present…he wondered why she considered him so worth killing. Most likely, he thought, she had just wanted to defile Dumbledore's funeral, and Draco had provided an excuse. He still couldn't believe she'd gotten away. One day, he'd repay her in kind. Psychopaths like her deserved to be put down like rabid dogs. She had tortured her own sister on the word of one man. That's all Voldemort was, Draco mused, just a man. One single man that turned the whole world on its head. Well, if one person could cause that much damage, maybe one person could fix some of it. Draco rolled the Malfoy motto over in his head. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. _Purity will always conquer. Maybe purity didn't mean for him what it meant for his father, Draco thought. After all, he had had just as many qualms over killing a muggle as he had over killing the headmaster. His eyes traced the curve of Granger's exposed forearm, her creamy skin. Whatever purity meant, Voldemort didn't have it.

He started from his reverie at the sound of apparition in the garden. He went to the window to see who it was. Diggle was standing in the yard, talking with Mr. Tonks.

A muffled squeak made him turn around. Granger had woken up. She was clutching her blanket with one hand and brandishing her wand at him with the other.

"Get out, Ferret! What the hell….what were you doing in here?"

"Actually, as it's my room you've passed out in, I could ask you the same thing. Just couldn't resist getting off in my bed, huh?" Old instincts died hard. He winced at his own comment.

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide. "You're sick, Malfoy."

"You're the one sneaking up to smell my pillow," he shrugged, feigning disinterest.

"Honestly, you prick, I should hex you into oblivion and say you attacked me. No one would care either way." She looked at him with utter loathing on her face, and it reminded him of the time she'd slapped him. For some sick reason, he wanted to make her do it again.

"Do it then," he said, taking a step closer to the bed. "Go on, Granger, take a shot." She looked like she could probably perform a good Crucio on him, but she did nothing. He didn't know what he was doing. He pounced on her, grasping her hands in his, on top of her. He felt electricity. He let go of her hands and raised his own. "Do it," he growled. "I deserve it. Hit me. Hard."

She did. Her fist connected with a crack. He reeled, feeling the adrenaline he had felt the last time she did that. The pain of it made him a touch hysterical, perhaps, because he grinned. He gripped the bed sheets hard. "Do it again."

She hit him. Again and again and again. Her face was flushed and she was breathing heavily, but Draco knew it didn't take that much effort for her to hit him. He couldn't think quite what it might have meant, however, because everything in that moment was pain and adrenaline and…

Fuck.

He sprung off her as quickly as he had pounced and turned his back, so that she wouldn't see the strange surge of pleasure he had gotten from his unusual form of self harm. "Thank you," he told her, and ran off.

His first thought was to go to his room, but she was there, so he went to the shower. He turned on the hot water and crumpled to a skinny heap of limbs in the corner of the tub. His platinum hair plastered his forehead and obscured his eyes, and the hot water made him almost believe he wasn't crying. Why was he crying? What the fuck just happened? He buried his head in his knees and determined to forget the whole incident.

Except it wasn't that easy.

For one thing, he had bruises all over his face, and a split lip, and _fuck,_ was his nose broken? He tried to breathe deeply. The hot water turned pink as it washed the blood from his face. He could heal them. He could charm what he couldn't heal; he could hide it.

His more immediate problem, however, was the fact that he was aroused by Hermione Granger. He tried desperately not to think, but her face, red and panting, kept flashing through his mind. Her parted lips and fierce eyes confronted him. He thought of her quick, steady actions when she'd been healing those people. He thought of the word he'd so often called her. He thought of the blood-so much purer than his- that pumped beneath her perfect skin. Hermione Granger was an intelligent, brave, beautiful girl, and he would never be good enough for her.

He stood up and washed himself, scrubbing harder than was necessary, as if trying to remove some acrid stain from his skin. He stepped out, toweled off, and healed his face. Then he lay down on the bathroom floor and allowed himself to think of what had just occurred.

A mudblood. He was mad. All this trauma had scarred his mind. He was _better_. He deserved a purer woman, someone with blood like his, status like his. It was _she _that didn't deserve him, as he'd known his whole life. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He needed to get away from this. He wasn't on the Dark Lord's side, but he wasn't on the Order's either. This wasn't his fight.

But it was. Voldemort had harmed his family. Malfoys were loyal to their house, and only their house. What had that old Arabic wizard said? _The enemy of my enemy is my friend. _He could never run from Voldemort; he needed revenge and the Order were his allies now. So he supposed he _was _on their side. And being on their side meant rethinking all he had believed when he'd been deceived by Voldemort. How much of that man's ideals had been pure rubbish, formulated to appeal to pureblood egos? Perhaps, if they won this war… things would be different. What evidence had there ever been that purebloods were better, anyway? Draco thought of Pansy, and grimaced. Theirs had been deemed a suitable match, and he supposed she had been a good way to relieve stress. But he couldn't _talk_ to her; she was utterly nauseating when it came down to it. Too simpering, too much like a house elf. She would never have made a good partner, and one would be hard-pressed to find a girl with purer blood. Now Granger…there was a Malfoy of a girl if he'd ever seen one. He touched his face and grinned roguishly. He thought back to the bed, and felt himself stiffen a little at the thought of her flushed face. She'd enjoyed that, whether she would admit it or no.

But she would admit it, he realized. They hadn't been intimate, they'd been fighting. She would be satisfied with breaking every brittle bone in his body if he gave her the option. He'd teased her all through school. He'd been…cruel, thinking back on it. As cruel as a Death Eater. And even if she could forget that mindset, he'd still aided the people that would kill her if they ever got the chance. He stared at the snake on his forearm as it coiled through the eye sockets of that horrid, grinning skull. He wondered why on earth the Dark Lord would have chosen a symbol so obviously evil. It was as if the man _wanted _to be seen as the bad guy. It was all a façade. He shook his head. All that propaganda. If Voldemort needed to resort to ghoulish imagery to be intimidating, power did not lie with him. A Malfoy was intimidating without ever having to stoop to such tricks.

He stared at the twisting snake. "I don't need you."

Maybe if he changed, she could forgive him.


	8. Chapter 8

-_Author's Note_- Just a little historical rambling here. I've always found the _Harry Potter_ series to be a poignant allegory of WWII. Even if this was not the author's intent, her story serves as a warning that people like the Nazis don't only exist because Hitler lived- the same situation can happen over and over. As the saying goes, those who do not understand history are doomed to repeat it. Being interested in WWII anyway, I decided to do some research. It turns out the Nazi Youth had quite a few dissenters. Although many of these groups didn't really affect the regime, certain "swing groups" formed by mainly upper-class involuntary participants in the Nazi Youth actually became a threat to the movement. One such group was the White Rose movement…sounds very Malfoy, eh? I think anyone interested in Draco's story should check it out. It's very moving to see a real-life parallel to a fictional character one loves so much, and we have much to learn from the past. Not to say that Draco's completely ready to give up his old dogma yet...

**-~Chapter 8: Malfoy Reunion~-**

Narcissa was relieved. Before the war, she would have been outraged. She'd been shackled and gagged. Her wand was gone. However, things were different now. She was never going back to Azkaban. She could, perhaps, save her son and her husband and all the people they'd wronged. As an added bonus, she was safe. Without the Dark Lord breathing down her neck, Narcissa Malfoy was a very strong woman. She would never be raped again.

She held her head high as they marched past Ministry officials, who glared at her. She couldn't tell whose side they were on.

"Be glad we got you out of here when we did," Moody grumbled. "This place'll fall within a fortnight, mark my words." Narcissa nodded, though Moody didn't spare her a glance. They headed quickly toward the fireplaces.

"Stop right there, Moody," said a cold voice. They turned. Moody growled.

"Listen, Gorth, I don't give a rat's ass about your papers. You have _nothing_ on me, I'm Head Auror. Let this one slide."

"You misunderstand me, Alaster. I only wanted to ask…are you quite sure it's..._safe_ for Ms. Malfoy, out there? Can the Auror department really spare the funds to protect her?"

Moody's eye swiveled. "She's only one woman."

Gorth raised his eyebrows. "Is she really? It appears Ms. Malfoy has withheld some things from her saviors. But by all means, if you think you can protect her, in her current…state….be my guest." He waved toward the fireplaces with a flourish.

Moody narrowed his good eye at Narcissa, then jerked her roughly into the fireplace. "Tonks residence," he barked, and they were gone.

The second crack of apparition to echo in the Tonks' house that day shook Draco awake. When he had emerged from the bathroom, it was to find Hermione gone and Nymphadora Tonks in her place. She had told Draco to get some sleep, and explained that she was making some "security upgrades." When Draco had asked what those were, he had been shoved off to bed. Malfoys are not often shoved, and being already disoriented from his earlier revelations, he went to his room without comment.

The dream he had been awakened from had been…confusing. He ached. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees. It had been a very strange day, and he felt alone and scared, like a child. On impulse, he bit his knee. The pain sharpened his wits and dulled his emotions, so he bit harder. Blood welled in the divots left by his teeth. He looked at them blankly for a moment, then sneered. Fuck it all, he was Draco Malfoy, he had gotten out of worse situations before. He pushed himself out of bed, carefully chose some clothes, and went downstairs to see what was happening.

At first, he thought that Mrs. Tonks had dyed her hair white. Then he realized that it couldn't be her, this woman was too thin and frail. When he met her eyes, his own widened. Draco walked over to her.

"Hello, mother." She looked at him with something like love, and Draco squirmed. The Malfoys were not an affectionate family. They stood in silence for a few moments, and then she wrapped her arms around him.

"My little dragon," she choked, "how you've grown." Draco was frozen. As strange as it was, he rather liked this emotional side of his mother. For once, her tears didn't seem brought on by weakness or frustration, and it comforted him. He hugged her back, and couldn't stop a few sobs escaping into her soft white hair. Malfoys had only one weakness, and it was their strength: they were stronger together.

They stepped apart, and Narcissa put her hands on his shoulders. "You've been hurt," she said, studying his face. "Who did this to you?"

"It's nothing," he mumbled. "Old scars."

"Don't try to fool me, Draco. I know a clumsy healing charm when I see one." They both tried not to think about why.

"We can talk about it later. Why are you here? What changed?" she studied him for a moment, and sighed.

"I suppose it can wait. But Draco…I must know if we are in the presence of enemies. I had thought the Order were more sparing with their punishments…"

"It wasn't one of the Order," Draco said quickly. "They're…trustworthy. As trustworthy as a bunch of blood traitors can be, anyway." He grimaced at the last. Old habits die hard. Narcissa eyed him coldly.

"If they are, perhaps it would be best to at least pretend to mesh with their morals, Draco." She smiled wanly, and motioned toward the chairs. "Let us sit. My explanation may take a while." Once seated, she hesitated, as if unsure where to begin. After a few moments, she took a breath and began.

"Your father and I want only the best for you, as we always have," she told him, her eyes pleading. "We have made…mistakes. Your defection leads me to believe that you have already realized that we aligned ourselves with the wrong side of this war." She looked at him, and Draco nodded. She dipped her head, and continued, "There are, however, things you do not know. Your father was not…strong, near the end. You must understand, they would have killed him, had I not bent to the Dark Lord's will. When he wanted to kill you as well…I nearly did it, Draco. I nearly left your father and took you some place safe. But I knew you would never forgive me, and Malfoys never forsake their own. So I stayed. The Dark Lord and the rest of them did things with me that were…unsavory, to say the least." Narcissa's eyes were fixed on a point outside of time. She blinked and took a breath. "Draco, I am pregnant. I bear Voldemort's son."


	9. Chapter 9

-_Author's Note_- Any criticism or advice would be much appreciated- I'm new to this! Personally, I think the last few chapters could've been condensed a bit; I had no idea where I was going. Now I sort of do, although the plot is still a little convoluted. But hey, so was PoA, and we all read that!

**-~Chapter 9: Stuff Actually Starts Happening~-**

Draco was angry. His head was filled with chaos. Where others turned to despair or heroism when confronted with the Dark Lord's actions, a Malfoy turned to cool rage. Out of the shouts and whispers in his head came one thought.

"He will pay." He looked at his mother with dark fury in his eyes. "He will pay dearly for what he has done to you."

Narcissa smiled grimly. "Oh, he will, my son. And in his arrogance, he has given us the tool to make it so." She placed a palm on her slightly swollen stomach. "Severus and I…we had much in common. Both of us had people we loved harmed by the Dark Lord. My rage was fresher, but Severus's was deeper. He felt my loss, I believe. I am sure this is why he was willing to do what he did; after he killed Dumbledore, of course, he knew he would have few changes to get his revenge. So we devised a spell to allow me to tap into your thoughts. Do not be alarmed," she said, for Draco was looking a little uncomfortable. "I did not intrude. I only made sure you were safe, that you were not giving away more of your reluctance than you should have. We would have shared the method with your father and you, but we felt you…weak, son, forgive me. Things have changed. I suspect that perhaps you are even stronger than I." Narcissa paused then, and Draco felt a little squirm of pleasure at the praise. It had been a long time since he had been able to enjoy something as fundamental as his mother's approval.

Narcissa continued. "You have heard, perhaps, of ancestral memories. Bits of instinct and, in wizards especially, memories passed down to one's offspring. In his studies of Legilimency, Severus discovered that these may be magically enhanced and even controlled, after a fashion." Draco raised his brow.

"I fail to see how this will help us. What you propose would only work amongst closely related family members. If either of us wants to know something from the other, we just ask."

Narcissa grinned wickedly. "Indeed. But we will soon have a new family member, won't we? Your half-brother, my bastard son. And his father…"

"…Is the cunt who calls himself 'Dark Lord'." Draco's eyes gleamed. Once, his mother would have punished him for speaking like a peasant, but no longer. This was wartime, and wartime demanded frankness.

"There are few flaws. The transaction will be one-way, and Voldemort will never know, if all goes according to plan…much more reliable than the Potter boy's unsightly scar. There are, however…drawbacks." Draco watched her warily. He knew that tone.

"There are laws of magic that govern us all. One of these is the law of conservation. There can be no more matter than there existed at the beginning of the universe, you understand that? We can make objects appear by changing the structure of atoms, and vanish objects by spreading out the space between atoms. We cannot, however, make more atoms." Draco nodded, a little bored. This was all elementary to him.

His mother leaned closer. "Memories, however, are a special kind of matter. They are nontransmutable. There is no way to, say, collect a memory, transmute it into air, and then reform it elsewhere. There is also no way to vanish it and make it appear somewhere else, like a Portkey, for such distances would destroy its tenuous electricity." Draco _thought_ he knew what that was. He wondered how muggles could have mastered the mysterious element. Narcissa continued.

"Even if one could do this, the original owner of the memory would no longer possess it, and might become suspicious. Therefore, Severus and I devised a different method with which to communicate the memory. A willing bystander sacrifices one of their memories, usually one most insignificant or terrible, and allows the old memory to be copied over it magically as the seer receives the memory through induced ancestral viewing. The memory can later be poured over in great detail in a pensive." Narcissa eyed her son. "There is an issue, however, with the willing participant. A stipulation that I designed to keep the method unused by all but myself. I fear it is a bit unorthodox, given our current situation. I apologize, but without Severus's help I would not know how to undo it." She glanced at the floor, and Draco saw that she was embarrassed. His mother, the woman who could proclaim she bore a bastard child without batting an eye, was embarrassed. This did not bode well.

"The participant must be utterly and irrevocably in love with the seer."

_You can all see where this is going, right? Yeah. Be excited. Even if this is kinda a lazy cop-out way to shove Dramione in there. I just need to get to the cuddling. Like seriously._


	10. Chapter 10

-~Chapter 10: Draco Tries Being Nice~-

Draco nervously palmed his wand. His mother and he had spent most of the last night planning things. He had perhaps six months to find someone who was madly in love with him. Father had always been mother's intermediary, but both were useless now- while mother was related to the child by blood, she was not related to its father. The child would connect him to Voldemort through their shared mother. Draco was the only person capable of utilizing the ancestral memory the babe would be able to channel, and he found the idea daunting.

He was laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think of how he could still smell Granger's hair on the pillow.

She had come to his mind at once when he'd been told what he'd have to do. She was perfect in many ways- a woman (he'd always had a way with them), intelligent and, though he hated to admit it, beautiful. She would be perfectly capable of the high-level magic that would be required, and in a normal situation, she might have been easy to seduce.

Draco sneered. No, he thought, actually she would never have been easy. The girl was as dry as the Sahara. She was frigid, even when Victor Krum had wanted her. She was most likely destined to be a spinster, old and crotchety with her nose always stuck in a book.

He was so good at lying, he almost believed himself.

He rolled over and shoved his nose into the pillow with a groan. In any case, Granger was both a Mudblood and his childhood rival, and she would be a fool to stop despising him. Even if she did, his mother would surely be appalled. For all her noise about repentance, she still had some grains of the old ways in her, and so did Draco. He could fantasize about Granger now without feeling too disgusted with himself, at least in a pureblood sense, but to actually kiss her would still probably revolt him…at least he tried to tell himself that.

But who else was there? He scanned his list of friends. The only one who was female was Pansy. She would never manage the magic involved; she was utterly dull. She would also never consent to helping the Order. And for all his acting, Draco wasn't sure he could convincingly court her anymore. He bit his pillow in frustration, and came away with the taste of Granger in his mouth. It was…nice.

"Ugh." He rolled out of bed and paced. His parents would loathe it. He wouldn't. She would never love him. He'd pulled off more difficult things before. She was a mudblood. That's what they were fighting for now. She was…she was…he couldn't think of another negative point.

Fine. He'd do it. He'd make Granger love him. Somehow.

He rolled his eyes. Even for internal monologues, this was getting melodramatic.  
He started brushing up on his love charms.

She was pissed.

She wanted every single second with her parents she could steal. She knew what Harry was going to do, and she'd planned out every stupid detail of this stupid endeavor already. She wanted to savor her last weeks with them, damn it all. But no, _Draco _fucking _Malfoy_ wished to speak with her, and so she had been _summoned_. She gripped her wand tightly as she apparated into the Tonks' garden. She prepared to storm into the house, but he was outside, waiting. God, she hated his stupidly elegant face. He was such an _asshole_.

"Granger. Let's take a walk."

She was caught off guard. She stopped five feet from him.

"Why?" she stared at him suspiciously.

"I want to talk with you privately. I have a lot to apologize for."

She stared at him, fingering her wand. "Have you been Imperiused?"

He sneered. "What's the matter, can't believe your wettest dream has finally come true?" _Shit, _he thought. _This is already going wrong. Okay, focus. Don't be an asshole._

"Alright, asshole, you can either tell me why you asked me here or act like we're back in fifth year, I don't care. Either way I'm out of here the second you disrespect me again. And this time you'll get more than a slap," she fumed.

He eyed her. Her statement implied that _she _was willing to act like they weren't in fifth year. Good.

"I…apologize. For being unnecessarily rude to you in school. I was a child; therefore I acted like a child. Now, I hope, I am a man. I ask your forgiveness. I ask that we be…friends." This was the most painful, ego-reducing thing he'd ever said. He thought about what his father had told him about never relinquishing one's power over a situation. _Sometimes,_ he thought,_ it is necessary. And I could not be dominated by a more beautiful source._ He winced, and tried to regain some dignity with his old fall-back: the sneer. It actually looked more like a painful, scary smile at this point, but thankfully he didn't know that.

She stepped away from him. "We will never be friends. I don't know what you're playing at, Malfoy, but stop it." She was unnerved. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it wasn't this. Being unprepared made Hermione nervous.

He matched her, step for step. "I could repair our…whatever this is. I could repair it. I could repay you."

She backed away further. "What this is…is nothing. You are nothing to me. Go away." Her hand hovered over her wand, but she didn't touch it…not just yet.

"You are something to me." He stepped closer. She stepped back.

"Why should I care?" She stared at him with narrowed eyes, trying to feign disinterest.

"Because there's something you don't seem to understand yet," he said softly. He stepped forward, but curiosity and nerves had made her forget her move in their dance, and she stayed where she was.

"And what is that?"

He leaned close, and whispered into her soft hair. "A Malfoy always gets what he wants."

An average girl might have swooned. Hermione only leaned into him, her mouth just beside his ear. Softly, very softly, she spoke.

"So does a Granger."

She slapped him, hard, and disapparated.


	11. Chapter 11

**-~Chapter 11: Something Goes Right~-**

She was wrapped in her blankets contemplating their encounter. She thought of all the horrible things he'd said and done over the years, the contemptuous look that was always on his face, and she hated him. He was a horrible person, and she'd really be happier if he were dead.

She shook her head. Nothing was that simple. Ron might think so, but she knew better. Hermione was nothing if not astute. She understood her studies, yes, but she also understood people. It was why she was still around Ron and Harry- they were utter imbeciles, they were horrible sometimes…but they had good hearts. They almost always meant well, and she loved them for it. But there were other kinds of good people. People like Neville, who were always kind but grew into their strength gradually. People like Draco, she thought, were the reverse. He had always known- or rather, overestimated- his own strength. He would grow into his kindness gradually, she hoped.

_Perhaps I ought to help him._

Why? She laughed at herself. She had enough to deal with on her own. If Draco needed a friend, he could search elsewhere.

_Know thine enemy._ Well, yes, there was that. _Plus hitting him is great stress relief. _Yes, if she were around him, she could probably find an excuse to do that again. She wriggled under her covers like a little girl. She was being silly. Honestly, she was just happy. She knew Draco didn't have the happiest home life, and even though she had hated his guts, she had also been a little sad for him. She was glad he was finally growing up. One more person on their side.

Her hand hovered near her phone. Maybe she should call him up? Oh, why not. It gave her warm fuzzies to see someone becoming a better person, and she needed someone to take her mind off Harry. She understood why he was so angsty recently, but it got on her nerves a little nonetheless.

"Hello, Mrs. Tonks? Could I please speak to Draco?"

"Oh dear…well, you can, but he doesn't really understand phones yet. I warned you."

There was a pause.

"WHAT?!" She held her phone away from her head and grimaced. Maybe she'd been wrong.

"I was under the impression that you wanted to be friends. Was I mistaken? Or have I interrupted some Dark ritual?"

"WHAT? NO! WHY WOULD YOU…gods, how do they talk through these wretched things…IF YOU CAN HEAR ME…COME FOR TEA." He hung up, and she laughed a little. For the epitome of sophisticated egotism, Malfoy was an idiot.

She apparated into the garden.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist a new creature to study. Bookworm." He sneered at her, but she just rolled her eyes.

"And what sort of creature would that be, a ferret? You'll have to work on your taunts, Malfoy, you've gone soft."

He'd gotten hard, actually, but he didn't correct her. "Please. I'm just giving you some respite. Isn't that what friends do?"

She shook her head. "I'd hate to see how you'd treat your enemies. Oh wait." He grimaced, and she almost felt bad. "Look, I didn't mean-"

"Didn't mean to say that I was a prat? Well, I was. To be fair, you could've been nicer too. Times were what they were. My alliances have shifted." He beckoned her into the house. "Let me show you something."

His mother had been against showing anyone their work, but Draco had insisted. If he wanted to gain her trust, he had to show her what he was doing for her side. That was how business worked.

He led her to the drawing room, which had become their lab. "Welcome to the Malfoy potion brewery."

She gazed at it, wide-eyed. Intricate contraptions and distilling systems filled the room in an organized mess. The walls had been converted into storage shelves; bottles and boxes smothered every available surface. The master potion brewed at the nebulous of it all, a shimmery red haze wafting off of it. This was contained in a magical orb hovering above the cauldron- one whiff of it would send the victim into a trance from which they would most likely never awake, entrenched in the memories of countless ancestors. The complex part of the process lay ahead- making the potion show the thoughts of an ancestor from the present. This would take several months, but the set-up was still rather wonderful to behold.

Hermione stepped into the room, running her fingers over the delicate contrivances. "Is that a Pensive?"

"It is. And _that_ is an Oracle Orb, and _that _is Time-Turner sand, and _that _is a transmutation distillery. It is rather glorious, is it not?" he drawled.

She turned back to him. "Whatever you're brewing, it had better be approved by the Order."

He laughed softly. "It is _only_ authorized by the Order. If the Ministry caught word, they'd have our heads, never mind our blood status." He ran a finger over a smooth glass decanter. "It will allow us to reach into Voldemort's mind, in the present and the past. We will know everything he knows. All of his secrets will be ours. Or rather, mine." Her eyes widened in alarm, and he turned grave. "Dumbledore trusted me," he told her. "Perhaps you will do the same."

Hermione tossed her hair and stepped further into the room, focused on the potion-making process. "I'll grant that you seem to know what you're doing," she told him, "except here." He walked over.

"I was first in our class in transmutation; I know exactly what I'm doing." All the same, his eyes narrowed as he searched his work for some mistake.

"You were only first because _I _was half cat."

"What?"

"Never mind, it's a long story," She blushed. "I brushed up on what I missed, you know. You need to angle this tube at forty-five degrees, not sixty, and you've mussed up the thickness of the glass by about a mile. This has boomslang skin dissolved into a phosphorous acid, right? It won't evaporate at less than two hundred ninety eight degrees. Unless the acidity is below 5ph, is it?" she looked at him, and smirked. He was taken aback.

"No," he said slowly. "What was that about glass thickness? None of that was in our textbook."

"How do you expect to get _by_ on just the class material? That drivel is set up for _charms_ majors, for goodness' sake. You were tutored at home, you should know that."

He found himself oddly attracted. His scheme to seduce her seemed to be backfiring.

"I was…taught other methods." He had a rather disturbing flashback to the dank Manor dungeons, and shivered slightly. He strode up to the masterpiece, the platinum cauldron in which the potion simmered gently. "Still," he beckoned to her, "you must admit this is impressive." She walked over and peered into the cauldron.

"I do. This looks incredibly unstable; I'm amazed you've been able to keep it simmering. Well done, Ferret."

They spent a few hours mulling about the lab, comparing notes and correcting Draco's mistakes, few though they were. During the course of her visit, her hand brushed him four times, her hip twice and her shoulder once. He wasn't sure why he was counting.

She went home without slapping him, but it was a near thing.


	12. Chapter 12

"I intend to use Granger."

Narcissa stared at him with an odd expression, rather like disbelief. Mrs. Tonks just looked incredulous.

"I know that we are…in a different situation now," his mother said hesitantly, "but…are you certain you are prepared to be mixing with someone of her…caliber?" She continued before Mrs. Tonks could shout her down. "What I mean is…she is a friend of Potter's. Should anything go wrong…should she suspect you of using her…the actions of the trio could be swift and reckless." Draco shrugged.

"Who's to say I'd only be using her? I desire her." His bluntness took his mother by surprise, and gave Mrs. Tonks a chance to step in.

"Draco, you're a fool. This is Hermione Granger we're talking about. I don't care _how _much you 'desire' her; she will never love you. The entirety of the Order distrusts you, including myself. Imagine how much _she_ does." The woman didn't beat around the bush.

Draco was quiet. "Who else do I have? Mother, I would use you, but you say that only romantic love would work. Merlin, why would you add this stupid safeguard? And you're _certain_ you can't take it off?"

His mother laughed. "'Take it off.' It isn't that simple, Draco, or what kind of safeguard would it be? It is woven into the very fabric of the spell, ingrained in the very words. I'd have to reinvent the entire thing, which would take months or even years." She shook her fine blonde hair over her shoulder. "You know this already, Draco. Quit lamenting it and find a solution." She sounded like she did during a tutoring session. Draco had always liked hers best. His father had taught him the art of torture and dueling, but his mother had taught him something far more valuable. She had taught him manipulation.

_"Rule One: Never assume you are safe. Never underestimate the enemy. Trust no one but a Malfoy. Rule Two: Hold your own values and beliefs firmly in your mind, but never divulge them. Rule Three: Think like your opposition. Always."_ It was the third rule he thought of now.

"It doesn't really matter what the odds are against it, does it? If I were Voldemort, I'd be feeling damn confident with the old man out of the way. I'd be massing my forces, infiltrating the ministry, and preparing for a full-scale takeover of Britain. After that it'll be just like the World Wars." Even wizards had taken notice when muggles started dropping atomic bombs. "We need to know everything he knows, and soon. We need the child now, really, but I suppose a premature birth is too large a risk. It doesn't matter how unlikely it is that Granger will love me- it has to happen. She's the only witch I can think of with the talent to pull it off and the empathy to fall in love with me. She has to, or Voldemort will most likely win." He picked at his tattoo, conscious of the self-deprecation in his words. He'd gone from self-assured to self-loathing in a very short time, and the two sides were still warring in his mind.

Narcissa nodded. "You are correct. If you are willing to take the risk, Draco…I predict it will be worth it." Mrs. Tonks just shook her head and got up to make more tea.

He called her over the next day.

"Granger."

"Malfoy." She eyed him. "What is it this time, then?"

"I'd like to know more about muggles. You live with two of them."

"Ask Mrs. Tonks, then. You should have taken Muggle Studies." She sniffed.

"The Tonks family is an all-wizard line. I'd like to understand what I'm fighting for and you're currently the only mudblood that would talk to me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Not for long if you say that word again." She turned toward the garden, and he followed. She was silent for a while, and he began to get nervous. Finally, she spoke. "Muggles begin their lives much like wizards do: in a hospital. From there, the differences multiply exponentially. Muggle delivery methods cannot rely on magic, and therefore most of the labor is done by the mother. Likewise in any muggle operation, the healing must be affected by the body of the patient. Bones take months to heal fully without magic, and once removed, a body part can almost never be replaced, except in the case of an organ transplant." She hesitated, embarrassed. "Muggle Magic- page 7."

"Did you just quote that entire thing?" He raised an eyebrow. She glared.

"And if I did? You wanted to know, didn't you?"

"Not about disgusting muggle birth, no. I want to know about their daily lives. What's it like, a life without magic?" He walked a little closer to her. She didn't notice.

"Not as different as you think. They go to school, love their families, play sports, read." She paused. "And there's television and movies. And electric lighting. Gods, I missed lightbulbs at Hogwarts. Far more than you'd think. All that wax and unattended flame, it was messy and dangerous." She'd lost him.

"Do you realize that what you just said made no sense?" She looked at him with a befuddled expression. He'd never seen that look on her before. It was rather endearing. He scowled.

"God, the more I think about it, there really are benefits to being a muggle." She began listing them off. "Electricity. Mathematics, you don't see much of that at Hogwarts. Or literature classes, for that matter, nevermind that we have ten thousand books…phones and email. Bloody owls take forever." She shook her head. "And, well, it's not so much a benefit…but they certainly have an advantage in weaponry." The rest of her list had sailed over Draco's head, but that got his attention.

"What do you mean, weaponry advantage? We have magic! Surely nothing their pitiful swords could match?" she looked at him in disbelief.

"How far behind _are_ you? They use guns now, Draco. And bombs. They can send a projectile hurtling into you far faster than it would take you to pull out your wand and mutter a spell. Even with your wand at the ready, if you just took a _second_ to think of what nonverbal spell to cast, a gun would already have punctured your brain with a bullet. And on a larger scale, there are bombs. What did Pettigrew do, kill a few people? Less than a city block? And the wizarding world thought _that _was horrible! In London, during World War II, they blew up entire sections of town. Gods, people do forget quickly. Ever heard of the atomic bomb, Draco?" He hesitated.

"Vaguely?"

She sighed in impatience. "I can't _believe _they don't teach us this in History of Magic. During World War II, some Americans came up with a bomb that shreds the very particles that make up reality. They dropped it on Hiroshima, and the entire city went up in flames. For miles around the initial bombing radius, people died of radiation poisoning. There was chaos everywhere. Millions of people died. How's that against Pettigrew?"

Draco was silent. Hermione watched him.

"What is it?" she touched his shoulder. He jumped.

"Why don't we use this on him? On Voldemort? Why don't they just find him and…gun him?" She looked at him quizzically, then laughed.

"I think you mean _shoot_, but fair point. I've suggested it. The problem is, no one knows where he is. They know now that we have you, so they've left the Manor, but it was too protected for us to strike anyway. Wherever he is, he'll probably be so protected that it would be impossible. When I said advantage, I meant on a large scale. If all wizards were to go to war against all muggles, for example, they wouldn't have the power to put such concentrated wards on every wizarding center…and if worst came to worst, an atomic explosion would force apart those, anyway. But the bombs are too destructive to use on Voldemort alone, and besides, they're guarded very closely. We could never get one without making major waves in muggle politics, and the last time that happened, there was a terrible war."


	13. Chapter 13

He was diffusing dragon's blood into a tincture of rosemary and adder's skin when she apparated into the room. He jumped, and a pint of dragon's blood poured onto the floor. He cursed at the red stain soaking into the carpet. Before the sight could bring on any flashback, however, she interrupted his train of thought.

"They've taken Lupin. Where's Tonks?"

"Shit." Draco didn't bother to clean up the blood. "She's not here. Get the Tonks. I'll stand guard. When was he captured?"

"Just a few minutes ago. He was trying to gather intel- oh, if he'd just stayed home! He knows it's too dangerous with Snape gone. He's been so restless lately, everyone's noticed." She turned and ran upstairs to the Tonks. Wand in hand, Draco faced the door. He wondered at Granger's resilience. Potter had been holed up with some filthy muggles this whole time, but Granger had been working closely with the Order all summer. She'd Obliviate her parents soon, but instead of spending all her time at home, she was already fighting. They could all sense what was coming- there would be war. Most coped by outright denial, spending every second holed up at home, savouring their last days of peacetime. Hermione was not one of them.

And she had been useful. Even hovering in limbo between hostage and ally, Draco had noticed that much. The Tonks listened to her news and opinions with serious attention. She walked in a more purposeful manner than Draco had ever seen, even at exam time. She was becoming a force to be reckoned with, not just in school, but in life. Draco wondered if she was sucking it out of him. He had become quieter than he had ever been. His mother had noticed, and wondered if his flashbacks were troubling him. It was just the opposite. With a goal he believed in, Draco had become more focused than he had ever been. He had no time to think about how scared he was anymore. Away from his violated home, Draco's hidden terrors had morphed into singular, focused revenge. Day and night, he perfected their means of invading Voldemort's mind. He would have killed to get his hands on Potter…there were so many tests he'd like to run on that scar…but he worked with what he had, and what he had was the expertise of himself, his mother, and two dedicated Order members, plus Granger, when they could spare her. He'd spent every waking moment in his workroom for the last two months, readying everything. He couldn't wait for that little whelp of a bastard brother to be born.

Hermione ran back downstairs with both Tonks' in tow. All three clutched their wands. Hermione took Draco's hand, and he jumped. Blue sparks flew from the tip of his wand. Normally, she might have smirked, but now she only barked, "We're apparating to the swamps outside Shoreditch."

With a crack, they were gone.

Granger lifted her wand. "Hominum revelio." Nothing happened. She nodded, and they moved forward as briskly as they could in the boggy marsh. "This was where his Patronus came from. They could have gone anywhere." Draco examined the mud around them.

"I don't think so. Look at this." Hermione came closer and studied the ground.

"You're right! Andromeda, Ted, come look at this." The two stepped closer. Ted leaned in.

"The tracks lead north…I learned tracking in the boy scouts. It's certainly been a while, but," he ran a hand through his graying hair, "I think I can follow these." Draco, confused, followed the man as he led them confidently through the tall grass.

"But why wouldn't they have just apparated? They've got plenty of Ministry puppets to assure they never get caught though a Trace."

Andromeda smiled grimly. "They're afraid. They think we're more powerful than we actually are which, for the moment, is what we want. When things get more openly violent, we'll change tactics…but they've forgotten. We don't need magic for everything. We have the benefits of muggle members." She looked at her husband proudly.

Draco started. "Ted's a muggle? But he's so…"

"Intelligent? Capable? Mr. Malfoy, it appears you still have much to learn. Kind wizards do not fight to protect muggles because they are helpless. Kind people, magical or not, fight to protect us all." She strode ahead as Draco gathered his thoughts. He had, indeed, never seen Mr. Tonks with a wand. He had just assumed that he was magical. Perhaps the divide between muggles and wizards was not as great as he imagined.

Hermione kept stride with Ted. "Look, there! The grass is bent down, the dirt's scuffed. He was struggling, at least. That's a good sign." They hurried forward. After crossing the next bluff, they tracked Lupin's captors to a cave. Silently, they surrounded the entrance. Hermione cast an invisibility charm on herself and motioned them to do the same. They swept carefully against the rocky sides of the hole in the hill. The jagged stalactites reminded Draco of teeth. He bared his own.

Silently, they slipped through the narrow hole and plastered themselves against the sides. The cave was dark, and not just in the traditional sense of the word. Draco felt the remnants of dark magic seeping into his bones. He did not shiver, but held completely still. Further in the shadows, Ted quietly fiddled with a queer, bulky contraption that might have been a gun. Andromeda muttered quietly, checking for wards.

After several minutes of silence, Draco grew impatient. "Lumos." The cave melted away in the dim light of his wand, trailing off into the darkness several feet ahead of them.

"There's a tunnel," Hermione observed. "Let's move." They prowled silently down the dank corridor. The light from Draco's wand illuminated the ground only a few feet in front of them, but they dared not use more light. Andromeda continued to mutter spells, checking for traps and wards.

For what seemed like hours, they traveled down the passage. Not very far in, Ted had noticed a small drop of blood on the floor. It had become a trail, as though somebody had been dragged down the passage as they bled out. The Tonks seemed to think Lupin might still be alive, but Draco doubted whether he would be for long. Once they'd used Legilimency on him, there was no chance of him escaping.

Finally, they reached the end of the corridor. Draco killed his light, and they snuck toward the opening.

"Hurry it up, Severus. We all know how much you'd love to linger in the grittier memories, but we've got to get this over with." An impatient voice echoed around the chamber, and they all froze. Draco felt a light touch brush his mind and he stiffened, clenching his wand fervently. He closed his mind, but it was forced open. Snape flooded in, searching every recent memory in a heartbeat. _I am about to attack you with a _Crucio_ spell. Repel it. In the ensuing battle, take the beast and his mates and run. You cannot apparated within the bounds of the cave._ The presence extracted itself, and Draco saw a curse fly at him. He blocked it on instinct, and dove out into the room. Hermione shrieked, and Ted began to fire at the Death Eaters. The sound of it was so loud that Draco almost forgot what Snape had told him. A flash of doubt made him pause, and he saw a greasy-haired man turn to fire a curse at Granger. He blocked it, and focused on Lupin. His ravaged form was chained to a bleeding Nymphadora. Draco blocked out the memories that threatened to overwhelm him and dragged them to their feet. He slashed the chains with his wand and pulled them through the tunnel.

"Go. Apparate when you're far enough away from the cave." He handed Tonks his wand and pushed them further down. Tonks stumbled away supporting Lupin, and Draco felt a flash of concern wash over him. He brushed it aside and turned back to the fighting. So far, they were winning. Hexes flew in both directions, but bullets in only one. Ted was actually making some impressive headway with the loud muggle weapon- one bulky blond Death Eater was bleeding at the kneecap, and another had had his head shot off. It was a grisly sight, but Draco had seen worse.

"Got an extra one of those, muggle?" he yelled to Ted. Without looking or pausing in his firing, Mr. Tonks pulled a much smaller gun out of a holster at his hip and threw it to Draco. After pausing a moment to puzzle out how to work it, Draco pulled the trigger experimentally, and a sudden kick forced his hand up. The badly fired bullet hit the wall and ricocheted into Snape's arm. He cried out, and Draco's eyes widened, unnerved at the damage he'd done. He closed his eyes.

_ Just pretend you're firing a harmless jinx at Weasley. _He breathed in and aimed carefully. He breathed out and killed a man.

~_Author's Note:_ Gun safety is not a joke. Never throw a gun at someone, unless you are confronted by Death Eaters and are wandless.


	14. Chapter 14

A very quick chapter, sorry I haven't been updating as much as I'd like. I have a job now, and whatnot. I'm typing the next as we speak, but this seemed like a good spot to break up chapters. Warning: Angst. God, I write too much angst.  
_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer._  
Dumbledore's words echoed through his head.  
_Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe._  
But it was. It had been so easy. Just one twitch of a finger. He hadn't had to think at all, like he would with magic. No coming up with a spell, no visualizing what would happen. No sending energy out through your body to kill someone. Just instinct and aim and a finger's twitch.  
But he had not been aiming at a good man this time.  
That night on the tower, when Dumbledore had told him he was not a killer, it had felt like a weight lifted. He had felt ashamed, yes, the old Dark mindset still swirling in him. But deep down, Draco had been so relieved. So happy to have someone besides his parents believe that he really didn't hate everything, that he was capable of goodness, that it was okay to be weak sometimes, in some things. That it was even a good thing.  
The truth hit him now. Dumbledore had been wrong. Draco was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were strong in every way, in every skill-even the cruel ones.  
Draco didn't feel cruel. He didn't feel uncaring, even, though he had pretended to be for most of his life. Apparently, the bloodline didn't care how he felt. The Malfoys would always be killers. He cursed…anything. Everything. The universe, fate, wyrd. Whatever had forced him to be born with mud in his veins.  
The irony was not lost on him.  
Granger was downstairs, patching up Lupin and Tonks. God, he felt sick for having tortured her for all those years. He knew how she felt now, having people expect the worst from you because of whom you were born to. Actually, he knew her torment twenty times over, because he expected it from himself. Unlike Granger, he had never tried to prove himself different from the expectations of his peers- rather, he had embraced them with a vengeance. Every taunt he'd every thrown, every hex he'd ever cast, every punishment he'd ever administered with the Inquisitorial Squad came back to haunt him. On its own, being cruel as a teenager could be excused on the grounds of bad upbringing or hormones or insecurities. Even serving Voldemort might be excused as a misdirected boy searching for status and belonging, he'd heard of cults before. Murder was not excusable. He wondered if the man he'd shot had had a family like his own- walled up in their own manor, the shock of his death running through their veins like a Full-Body Bind. On top of his more petty crimes, Draco heaped murder, and the pile came tumbling down to crush him.  
Hermione padded softly up the stairs. She knocked on his door, even though it was open. "Malfoy?"  
"How's Lupin? And Tonks?" Even in his state of self-loathing and pity, he wouldn't forget his mission to atone for his idiocy-gods knew if he ever could now.  
"They're…better," she said hesitantly. "Andromeda's working on them, she can handle it on her own now." She watched him carefully for a moment. He stared at his ceiling, unblinking.  
"Malfoy," she blurted, "I know how it feels." He didn't respond.  
"You're feeling guilty. Feeling like you've ruined the life of his children, spread the misery rather than stopped it. Like this is the worst thing you've ever done." He stayed silent. "Listen," she continued, "I've been there. My first kill was…well, that night at the tower. I haven't even told Ron or Harry about it." She waited for a response, but got none. "The man I killed…Draco, I still see his face. At first it made me feel worse…but you know what? Now it makes me feel better. It was a cruel face, Draco. You know people like that firsthand. Sometimes self-defense makes it necessary to kill. Sometimes, cruel people cause their own deaths by trying to kill other people. It'll torment you," she added, "but don't let it ruin your sanity." He laughed hollowly.  
"Sanity." He sat up. "You want to talk to me about sanity? I see faces too, Granger. All the time. Only mine aren't cruel." He spoke quickly, bluntly. "The faces I see are kind, and old, and young. All screaming. All covered in blood." He shook his head. "You have no idea what I've done. This was my first kill, Granger, yeah, but it wasn't my first time 'spreading misery.' The things he made me do…the things I've seen…Granger, you have no idea what guilt is really like. You might have killed someone in defense of all things good and white and sparkling. I've tortured people, Granger. I've gutted a woman while she was still alive. I peeled the skin off of a man's face. Oh no, Granger, murder is not what will keep me up at night. It's just the icing on the cake." He slammed back onto his bed and rolled over, hoping she'd leave him alone. She just sat there.  
After a time, she said, quietly, "I forgive you."  
Draco listened to her footsteps echo softly back down the hall.


	15. Chapter 15

"Well." She crossed her legs and sat up straight. "That's unusual." He gawked at her.  
"Um, yeah, it is," he managed lamely. He had expected something a bit more explosive when he told her the truth, and her calmness was unnerving.  
"Oh, not the part where you lied to me, manipulated me, and never trusted a soul, that's all normal as can be," she assured him sarcastically. "What I don't understand is why your mother lied to you."  
"What?"  
"Draco, don't be stupid. What's the one potion no one thinks will ever be made? A love potion. 'Tamper with the deepest mysteries-the essence of life, the source of self- only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind.' That's the first of Adalbert Waffling's fundamental laws of magic. Isn't it obvious? The sheer scientific anomalies needed for a potion to judge whether the channeller was truly in love with the recipient just aren't possible, even with magic. Your mother couldn't possibly have made that safeguard. Draco…she just wanted you to make some friends." She looked at him with faint concern and earnestness in her eyes. He felt sick.  
He was silent for a few moments, then, "I don't need your friendship. All I need is a fucking channeller." He stood, paced across the room, and slammed the door behind him.

"How could you do this?!" he was furious. "How could you have made such a fool out of me?!" he screamed at his mother. She was backed against the kitchen cabinets, looking unsettled, but calm as ever. That only made him angrier.  
"You lied to me, mother! Do you think I'm not capable of finding a mate without your help? Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't want to go out and socialize, while a psychopath was busy murdering my schoolmates?!" He was breathing hard. All of the frustration that had been building within him for the past year was swelling in one great wave, and his thin façade was cracking. "All I wanted was to be the best. Because that's what a Malfoy is, isn't it mother, the fucking best? And I tried so fucking hard to please you and father. I tried so hard I almost killed people, and now you want me to go make friends? Well, too bad. Because I can't make friends anymore. I can't do anything except torture and kill. I shot a man two days ago, mother, I saw his chest shatter inward and the blood spurting from what used to be his heart, and you know what I got? 'Good job, Draco, good work, now let's get back to the cottage.' That's not normal! And we haven't even talked about it since! Like you've just forgotten that I tore a man's chest apart. I'm seventeen, mother, and I've killed a man. And that's not all!" Draco swelled with rage and fear and confusion, but suddenly his voice lowered.  
"I saw Amelia Bones writhing in agony as I ripped the skin off her stomach and took out her organs one by one." His eyes glittered darkly. "I heard her screaming when Voldemort administered the Cruciatus. I smelled her blood, and other things too. And I was punished, mother, but not for lacking empathy, for doing unspeakable things to another human being, but for not doing it well enough. And then I tortured them again and again, old men with pocket watches from their dead fathers and little girls no bigger than first-years with pink ribbons in their hair. And I listened to them torture you and father every night and almost every day. Is that the best, mother? Is that Malfoy power? Is that 'purity will conquer'? Because if it is," he forced a grim, half-sane laugh, "I don't want to be the best anymore." He turned and stormed back to his room, intending to spend some time cooling down by biting himself or trying to strip the skin off his left forearm.  
"You're still here." He stopped short in his doorway, halted by her auburn hair. She had her back turned to him, and he couldn't tell whether she was angry or not. It just angered him further.  
"What is it with you, anyway? Walk into my life like I'm your fucking charity case. Well I'm not a house-elf, Granger, and I don't need your pity. Get the hell out of my room, mudblood."  
She turned, and before he could think her wand was out and the door had slammed shut of it's own accord.  
"I told you never to call me that again." The wind was howling outside, and it sounded like someone screaming. He bared his teeth at her as his frustration began to build again.  
"I told you that if you ever disrespected me again, I would make your regret it."  
"Go on then, hex me. I couldn't care less. Go on, do it! Hex me! Curse me, mudblood!"  
"Do NOT raise your voice with me!" She advanced on him. The wind beat at the shutters.  
"Don't you get it, Granger? I DON'T FUCKING CARE!" his yell was raw and loud. It shook the walls along with the storm and left his throat feeling scratched and abused.  
Hermione pointed her wand at the shutters, and they swung shut. The sound of the storm abated. She lowered her voice. "You do, Draco. You've cared about every single thing you've ever cursed. You think you're so hard to read, but it's easy, really. Boys," she smiled a little. "You're all the same. This has gone on long enough, Draco. It's…it's noble to care about people, it's right, it's the purest form of power. And you know why?" She lifted his chin so that he met her eyes. "Because people care back." She smiled a little, hopefully, as though he were a small child she was trying to teach not to hit others.  
Draco was used to conflicting emotions. He was used to putting on the Malfoy mask. But he was so tired, and Hermione's voice was so soft. He gave up and wrapped her in a hug, and a sob escaped into her thick hair.  
They stayed like that for a time, and she hugged him tightly. But then Hermione froze.  
"Do you hear that? I thought it was just the wind, but…"  
Draco's eyes went wide. "That sounds like mother."  
Ted burst into the room, panting and looking terrified. "Draco, come quick- your mother's in labour."


	16. Chapter 16

"Well." She crossed her legs and sat up straight. "That's unusual." He gawked at her.  
"Um, yeah, it is," he managed lamely. He had expected something a bit more explosive when he told her the truth, and her calmness was unnerving.  
"Oh, not the part where you lied to me, manipulated me, and never trusted a soul, that's all normal as can be," she assured him sarcastically. "What I don't understand is why your mother lied to you."  
"What?"  
"Draco, don't be stupid. What's the one potion no one thinks will ever be made? A love potion. 'Tamper with the deepest mysteries-the essence of life, the source of self- only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind.' That's the first of Adalbert Waffling's fundamental laws of magic. Isn't it obvious? The sheer scientific anomalies needed for a potion to judge whether the channeller was truly in love with the recipient just aren't possible, even with magic. Your mother couldn't possibly have made that safeguard. Draco…she just wanted you to make some friends." She looked at him with faint concern and earnestness in her eyes. He felt sick.  
He was silent for a few moments, then, "I don't need your friendship. All I need is a fucking channeller." He stood, paced across the room, and slammed the door behind him.

"How could you do this?!" he was furious. "How could you have made such a fool out of me?!" he screamed at his mother. She was backed against the kitchen cabinets, looking unsettled, but calm as ever. That only made him angrier.  
"You lied to me, mother! Do you think I'm not capable of finding a mate without your help? Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't want to go out and socialize, while a psychopath was busy murdering my schoolmates?!" He was breathing hard. All of the frustration that had been building within him for the past year was swelling in one great wave, and his thin façade was cracking. "All I wanted was to be the best. Because that's what a Malfoy is, isn't it mother, the fucking best? And I tried so fucking hard to please you and father. I tried so hard I almost killed people, and now you want me to go make friends? Well, too bad. Because I can't make friends anymore. I can't do anything except torture and kill. I shot a man two days ago, mother, I saw his chest shatter inward and the blood spurting from what used to be his heart, and you know what I got? 'Good job, Draco, good work, now let's get back to the cottage.' That's not normal! And we haven't even talked about it since! Like you've just forgotten that I tore a man's chest apart. I'm seventeen, mother, and I've killed a man. And that's not all!" Draco swelled with rage and fear and confusion, but suddenly his voice lowered.  
"I saw Amelia Bones writhing in agony as I ripped the skin off her stomach and took out her organs one by one." His eyes glittered darkly. "I heard her screaming when Voldemort administered the Cruciatus. I smelled her blood, and other things too. And I was punished, mother, but not for lacking empathy, for doing unspeakable things to another human being, but for not doing it well enough. And then I tortured them again and again, old men with pocket watches from their dead fathers and little girls no bigger than first-years with pink ribbons in their hair. And I listened to them torture you and father every night and almost every day. Is that the best, mother? Is that Malfoy power? Is that 'purity will conquer'? Because if it is," he forced a grim, half-sane laugh, "I don't want to be the best anymore." He turned and stormed back to his room, intending to spend some time cooling down by biting himself or trying to strip the skin off his left forearm.  
"You're still here." He stopped short in his doorway, halted by her auburn hair. She had her back turned to him, and he couldn't tell whether she was angry or not. It just angered him further.  
"What is it with you, anyway? Walk into my life like I'm your fucking charity case. Well I'm not a house-elf, Granger, and I don't need your pity. Get the hell out of my room, mudblood."  
She turned, and before he could think her wand was out and the door had slammed shut of it's own accord.  
"I told you never to call me that again." The wind was howling outside, and it sounded like someone screaming. He bared his teeth at her as his frustration began to build again.  
"I told you that if you ever disrespected me again, I would make your regret it."  
"Go on then, hex me. I couldn't care less. Go on, do it! Hex me! Curse me, mudblood!"  
"Do NOT raise your voice with me!" She advanced on him. The wind beat at the shutters.  
"Don't you get it, Granger? I DON'T FUCKING CARE!" his yell was raw and loud. It shook the walls along with the storm and left his throat feeling scratched and abused.  
Hermione pointed her wand at the shutters, and they swung shut. The sound of the storm abated. She lowered her voice. "You do, Draco. You've cared about every single thing you've ever cursed. You think you're so hard to read, but it's easy, really. Boys," she smiled a little. "You're all the same. This has gone on long enough, Draco. It's…it's noble to care about people, it's right, it's the purest form of power. And you know why?" She lifted his chin so that he met her eyes. "Because people care back." She smiled a little, hopefully, as though he were a small child she was trying to teach not to hit others.  
Draco was used to conflicting emotions. He was used to putting on the Malfoy mask. But he was so tired, and Hermione's voice was so soft. He gave up and wrapped her in a hug, and a sob escaped into her thick hair.  
They stayed like that for a time, and she hugged him tightly. But then Hermione froze.  
"Do you hear that? I thought it was just the wind, but…"  
Draco's eyes went wide. "That sounds like mother."  
Ted burst into the room, panting and looking terrified. "Draco, come quick- your mother's in labour."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: This is a really short chapter, more of a teaser, really. There's birth. I know, gross. Don't want to read about birth? Skip it.

They rushed down the creaky stairs. Ted hesitated in front of the door to the laboratory. "Normally," he told them, "I would suggest you stay away from here. Things are about to get pretty graphic." Neither of them looked especially concerned. They had both dealt with worse.

"However," Ted continued, "your mother's pregnancy is different, Draco. We have no idea what's been growing inside her these nine months. I want you both prepared for the worst, with wands at the ready. Hermione, I hope you can stay to help heal her." Granger nodded, and Draco was grateful. Killing, he could handle, but healing was out of his league.

They entered the room and were assaulted by a cacophony of sound. Narcissa was screaming, Mrs. Tonks was trying to assuage her, and nearby, the cauldron with the nearly finished potion was hissing loudly. A thousand voices, screaming and whispering, emanated dimly from the fog which rose off of the potion and condensed in a glass container. Draco tried to block them out and went to sit beside his mother, while Hermione looked for something for the pain.

It felt like they spent an eternity in that hot, noisy room, surrounded by increasingly malicious whispers and strange smoke. Hermione was calmly writing a list of the potions Narcissa had taken, but Draco could tell she was nervous. Sometimes she would look up briefly, her face grimacing slightly with concern, and bite her lip. He made note of her every movement, determined not to think of all that could go wrong tonight.

Finally, Mrs. Tonks said "It's time." Hermione looked up from some calculations. Draco took his mother's hand. With a cry of agony, Narcissa Malfoy brought the child of a monster into the world.


End file.
